


Lies I Tell Myself

by xancredible



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xancredible/pseuds/xancredible
Summary: Merlin fears he might forget Arthur, so he conjures up an illusion that looks like his friend.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Lies I Tell Myself

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my GDocs for over two years. I wrote it for the Resurrection Fanthology that was created to celebrate the 10 years anniversary of the start of BBC's Merlin. I haven't posted a new Merlin work in nearly as long, so this is probably coming as a bit of a surprise to some people xD
> 
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this!

Merlin has missed Arthur for longer than the legend of King Arthur existed. 

At first, it hurt too much to even think about him. About Camelot. About Merlin’s own failure. 

A century later, it hurt that Merlin failed to remember the little details of that life, of Arthur and their decade together. 

What did the engravings on Arthur’s pauldron look like, and what was the pattern on the windows in Arthur’s chambers? What did Arthur’s voice sound like? What shade of blue were his eyes? 

Merlin forgot, and in a desperate attempt to keep the little he still knew alive in his memory, he conjured up an illusion. 

It wasn’t perfect—never could be—but it was the best he could do with the image of Arthur he held in his mind. The illusion was too short—a smidgen shorter than Merlin himself, even—and its nose was crooked, as were its front teeth. At least its hair seemed to be mostly the right shade of blond. Overall, the illusion was nice to look at, though not completely right. 

In any case, Merlin got back a friend whom he could trust. Arthur knew about his magic now, and had accepted Merlin for who he was, so Merlin felt closer to Arthur than he ever had. 

Despite their new closeness, they still bickered over everything and on some days, even centuries after Camelot has been lost to legend, the only thing that kept Merlin sane through his grief were the lighthearted insults he exchanged with the illusion, or the way it ruffled Merlin’s hair rather than slapping him on the shoulder. 

However, despite all of Merlin’s powers, the illusion couldn’t be seen, heard or touched by anyone else. This led to many an embarrassing moment in public when Merlin ended up arguing with the illusion over which vegetables to buy or what meat he should cook for dinner. 

People started giving him a wide berth after a while, and Merlin embraced the solitude. After all, he had a version of Arthur at his side, and that meant that he could tell himself he didn’t completely fail the man who wasn’t only his king, but also his closest friend, and above all, his destiny. By keeping up the illusion, Arthur sort of still lived, and that had to account for something. 

Unfortunately, Merlin soon discovered that the illusion faded at periodic intervals. Even though Merlin was easily powerful enough to maintain a spell without having to concentrate on it continuously, over a prolonged period of time, eventually the magic would run out, much like a battery, and he’d have to renew the spell to bring the illusion back. The only way to keep it up indefinitely would be to tie it to a place or to a medium through a ritual. 

The first option defeated the purpose of having a friend. The illusion would be nothing more than a pet if Merlin had to leave it in a specific place. 

Tying it to a medium was out of the question as well. For magic like that, Merlin would need something that belonged to Arthur in life, or he’d have to bond it to himself. That, however, would give the illusion more life than was safe. It would become independent and most likely drain Merlin of either all of his power or his life force, and Merlin would die while the illusion lived forever. 

So instead, Merlin renewed the magic every once in a while, usually waiting a day or two after its disappearance to recharge his energy, and to see whether this time he’d be okay without his favourite (and only) coping mechanism. 

1,400 years later (give or take a couple decades), he still allows himself a few days of rest between the illusion’s disappearance and his inevitable acceptance that he’s only ever going to stop conjuring it once the real Arthur has returned. 

Today, it’s been nearly three days since the illusion went away. It’s early morning, just before dawn, and Merlin’s sitting on the shore of the lake Avalon. 

Merlin walks past the lake almost every day, and always comes back down to the water’s edge when he needs to conjure up the illusion again. For some reason it feels necessary to do it here. 

The water’s quiet today, lazily lapping at the shore in soft, slow waves. Merlin likes this time of day. The early morning, just before the sun comes up, when the air smells of new beginnings and hope—it gives Merlin peace. 

He casts the spell and, a moment later, hears footsteps approaching. When he looks up, he finds familiar looking clothes and an even more familiar looking face. 

Smiling fondly at the illusion, he gets to his feet. 

"Welcome back, old friend," Merlin says, the same way he always does when they meet again. "Ready to head home? I could use some breakfast." He nods his head towards the path back to his cottage 

The illusion smiles back. "If you don’t expect me to make it." 

"Of course not," Merlin says, rolling his eyes. "You wouldn’t even lift a tea bag." 

The illusion huffs out a laugh. "Who knows. I might today." 

"Sure you might," Merlin teases. 

"How have you been these past few days?" the illusion asks then, the question just as customary as Merlin’s greeting. Merlin’s noncommittal shrug is part of the ritual as well. 

"The usual," he says. "Someone asked me out again." 

"Did you say yes this time?" the illusion asks. 

Merlin scoffs. "You know I didn’t." 

The illusion sighs. "Why not?" 

"You know that, too. They always want something serious with someone normal, and I’m the weirdo who’s 1,500 years old and talks to an imaginary friend." 

"I’m not imaginary," the illusion says, and Merlin just rolls his eyes again. 

The illusion claps a hand on Merlin’s shoulder in support. Its grip seems a little stronger today than other times. Merlin must’ve become better at conjuring it if he brought it back this life-like. 

"Not to mention your ears," it says jovially, squeezing Merlin’s shoulder for good measure. "Did they grow in the last few days?" 

"Oh, ha ha," Merlin counters eloquently. "I’d deny you breakfast, but you don’t eat in the first place, so what would be the point?" 

The illusion lets go of Merlin’s shoulder as they step through the low gate to Merlin’s garden. "You know," it says, "I think I actually feel hungry today." 

Merlin stops halfway to his front door and looks at it quizzically. "You do?" 

The illusion nods. 

Merlin’s not sure what his expression looks like, but it must worry the illusion because its face becomes serious, reminding Merlin of the times when the real Arthur faced sudden threats. 

"What is it?" it asks. 

"I don’t know," Merlin admits. "You shouldn’t be able to feel hungry. You never eat, and you don’t sleep. You’re not real." 

The illusion frowns. "Of course I’m real, Merlin. I’ve just not been entirely—" it gestures broadly at itself and the surrounding area, "—here." 

Merlin takes a step back, dread spiking icy cold down his spine. He looks at the illusion properly now. It appears like it always does: Boots, breeches, Arthur’s favourite red tunic, the same incorrect but good enough face… But there’s something about it today. It’s never been translucent or obviously unreal, but looking at it now, it appears much more solid than a few days ago before it disappeared. 

Now that Merlin checks for it, he can see more details, too. There are freckles on its nose and cheekbones that were never visible before. The rising sun’s bringing out different shades of golden blond hair that Merlin would have noticed in the past had it been visible. 

"But how could I have done it without noticing?" Merlin muses out loud. 

"Done what? Merlin, what’s wrong?" the illusion ask, stepping closer, worry in its eyes. 

"I must’ve accidentally turned myself into a medium and now you’re feeding off my powers, becoming more real, and killing me slowly in the process. You’re supposed to be just a figment of my imagination. Eerily life-like, yes, but not actually _alive_ ," Merlin blurts. "I have to fix this. I have to interrupt the connection and then—" He swallows thickly. 

"Then what?" the illusion asks, taking Merlin’s shoulders again, staring into his eyes. 

"Then I can never conjure you again. It would be too dangerous," Merlin says. 

The illusion lets go of him again. Merlin thought it would be scared but when he looks at it, it looks calm. 

He doesn’t linger on what that could mean. Instead, he turns towards the house and walks straight to his library to check if there’s anything he can do to stop this before he’s entirely drained of power or life. The illusion doesn’t follow him, and Merlin’s glad for it. He doesn’t think he could bear to look at it while trying to find a way to ki— get rid of the threat to his own life. 

Hours later, he has all that he needs to end it, and only when he can’t immediately find the illusion, it occurs to him that maybe it has fled to preserve its own existence. Merlin searches everywhere in the house and the garden, and just as he’s about to panic, he remembers to check at the lake. 

There the illusion sits in almost the exact same spot where Merlin had been this morning. Merlin approaches it cautiously, and when it doesn’t run off or try to fight him, he sits down next to it. 

"I know how to break the bond," Merlin says after a while. 

"Good," says the illusion. 

"Aren’t you angry with me? Or scared?" 

"No," it says simply. "If my existence were a threat on your life, I’d rather not be here." 

"Oh," Merlin says because he doesn’t know what else to say. All the texts he’s read suggested that an entity that’s crossed the threshold between illusion and reality will do anything to preserve its existence. 

"However," the illusion says, pulling Merlin out of his own head again, "I think you’re wrong about what I am." 

"And you’d know, would you? Need I remind you that I’m the one with magic here?" Merlin says, his tone much too fond for the predicament they’re in. 

"And need _I_ remind _you_ that I’m the one who lay sleeping in Avalon for fifteen hundred years while his soul was called back to the material world over and over again by a gangly pillock of a sorcerer who’s too harebrained to understand exactly how powerful he is?" 

Merlin’s about to protest the insults when the illusions words properly catch up with him. 

"What?" he squeaks, and turns to look at the side of the illusion’s head. 

"You really didn’t realise, did you? That it’s been me this whole time?" The illusion turns to look at Merlin. 

"You can’t be real," Merlin whispers. "You’re too short, and your face is all wrong." 

The illusion quirks a smile. "I should be flattered that you think I was two metres high and even more handsome than this. I never knew you thought that way, Merlin." Its grin fades slowly. "The picture you have of me inside your mind’s the one that’s not real. Why would I look _less_ handsome than your imagination if you’re the one who’s created me?" 

Merlin has no response to that because he’s asked himself this question more times than he can count. 

"If you were real," Merlin says slowly, "why didn’t you ever say so?" 

"Obviously I thought you knew," the illusion says. "I thought you knew that it was a part of the real me that came to this world whenever you called me back. My body remained in Avalon for all this time. The Sidhe were my guardians as well as my gaolers, but they couldn’t hold on to my soul the same way they could to my body." 

"But they let you go now?" Merlin asks, still not convinced he believes the illusion. How could Merlin not have known that this was the real Arthur? 

"They said my debt’s paid, my wounds completely healed, and the time to save all of Albion has come." 

"Right," Merlin stresses. "Because two world wars clearly weren’t bad enough to let you go just yet." 

A look of grief crosses the illusion’s face. "It’s not like I wasn’t there at all," it says. 

Merlin knows, of course. They fought together. Not in the trenches, but behind the scenes as advisors as best they could, and whenever they received news of more death and destruction, they also turned to each other for comfort. 

"You were," Merlin agrees. "And without you, the wars might’ve lasted even longer." 

The illusion tips its head back and looks up at the darkening sky. "I don’t know what lies ahead. The Sidhe do, but they wouldn’t tell me, and now that they let me go, I’ve lost my connection to them. It must be something terrible if they’re willing to give me life again." 

Merlin looks up as well, watching the clouds pass by slowly as they turn from pink to gray. 

"We’ll figure it out together," he says at length. "But first I need to make sure you really are you." 

Merlin wants to believe that this is the real Arthur, and has been him for 1,400 years, but just in case that this is an especially clever ruse to manipulate him just so the illusion can continue to rob him of his powers, Merlin needs to cast the spell. 

The illusion sighs longsufferingly. "What do I have to do?" 

"Just stay where you are. And, I suppose, don’t be a liar," Merlin says as he gets back up. 

The illusion turns his head so it can look up at Merlin. "I wouldn’t lie to you," it says, and Merlin wishes he could spare them both the test. But as long as there’s the slightest chance that this isn’t the real Arthur, and that Merlin’s going to die as a consequence of believing a fake, he has to be sure. He cannot die as long as the real Arthur isn’t back. 

He says the words of the spell which will break the bond that he accidentally created, and when he doesn’t feel the familiar rush of magic taking hold, he does it again. And again. And again until he’s cast it half a dozen times and nothing has happened. 

Merlin chokes out a sob and drops back to his knees painfully. He doesn’t even notice the ache in his legs, just bends over until his forehead’s pressed against the ground. He cries freely for he doesn’t know how long. 

He cries for the centuries upon centuries that he missed his friend while having him _right here_. He cries for the many times he tried to stop calling him up because he thought it would be better to be alone than to live with a lie. He cries for the lifetimes he’s spent resenting the illusion for not being _his_ Arthur despite being so much like him. He cries for the years he’s been grieving a friend who has actually been by his side all this time, comforting him through every fresh wave of sorrow. 

A hand lands in his hair and strokes his head, and an indeterminable amount of time later, the tears finally stop and his breathing calms down. 

Merlin sits up and takes in Arthur, truly seeing him for the first time in much, much too long. 

A smile fights its way onto his lips. "I’m glad you’re uglier than I thought," he says. "I must’ve confused you with Leon all this time." 

And Arthur just laughs in response. He laughs that full body laugh where he throws his head back and opens his mouth much too wide and generally just looks ridiculously dorky. Merlin loves it. 

"As long as you didn’t picture me as Gwaine," Arthur says once he’s got his breathing under control again. 

"Oh no," Merlin says mock-seriously. "No one could compare to Gwaine. After all, he was the second most handsome knight in all of Camelot." 

"Second most handsome, hm?" Arthur asks, grinning smugly. 

"Yes. Right after Lancelot," Merlin says gravely. 

They stare at each other for all of three seconds before they both burst out laughing again. They laugh until Merlin’s stomach hurts and Arthur’s guffaws have turned into coughs. At some point, they fell down side by side, and now they’re just lying there, shoulders touching as their breathing evens out. 

The stars shine brightly through the gaps in the clouds above them now, and Merlin can hear the gentle movement of the water. He feels peaceful for the first time since… since long before they fought at Camlann. 

"I’m really glad you’re back," Merlin says eventually. "Even if it means the world’s about to end. At least I can be fairly sure you won’t be stabbed this time." 

Arthur hums. "True. No one fights with swords anymore. A shame, really. There was more honour in personally killing your enemy, rather than anonymously mass-murdering thousands of innocent people." He turns his head to look at Merlin, and Merlin looks back. 

"But I’m glad, too,’ Arthur says seriously, only to ruin it by breaking into a grin a moment later. "If nothing else, people will finally stop looking at you sideways because they’re worried you’re contagious and that they’ll start arguing with thin air about whether broccoli or cauliflower’s the better choice.’ 

"Oi," Merlin says, boxing Arthur in the thigh. "It’s not my fault they couldn’t see you." 

Arthur boxes him right back. "You could’ve at least bought one of those bluetooth thingies and pretended to talk on the phone these last couple of decades." 

"Ouch, you knob," Merlin says, rubbing his thigh. 

"Serves you right," Arthur says, and after a few more moments of silence adds, "Thank you for bringing me here all this time." 

Merlin scrunches up his nose. He doesn’t think he deserves to be thanked for that. 

"I didn’t do it for you.’ he admits. "I didn’t even know it _was_ you." 

"That’s alright, Merlin. You always were a little dense," Arthur teases, bumping Merlin’s thigh much more gently this time. 

"Am not," Merlin says petulantly. 

"Yes, you are, but it’s alright. I always knew I was both the brains and the brawn out of the two of us." 

"And I’ve always been the one who’s actually funny," Merlin says, bumping Arthur’s thigh in response. 

"Yes," Arthur says cheerfully. "Just like old times." 

"Mhm," Merlin hums. "Just like that." 

They turn to look at each other, both finding the other one already grinning. 

Just as it should be. 


End file.
